


Taking Over

by WanSue



Series: Overwritten [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Depression, Gender Dysphoria, High-functioning depression, Internalized Transphobia, Not Beta Read, References to Depression, Running on spite, Self-Hatred, Self-Insert, inner reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:34:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23217829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanSue/pseuds/WanSue
Summary: Ro tells a bit about her point of view when coming online at Harry Potter, her struggles and the conclusion she reached.
Series: Overwritten [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1645027
Kudos: 15





	Taking Over

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't hate me; it's just that yesterday, once I posted that small interlude this idea wouldn't let me be and therefore it's now here. In front of you. Instead of the next chapters of Overlay or TBB that I'm working on too.
> 
> Enjoy?

Upon awaking I felt heavy, uncoordinated. I remember thoughts unconexed, mind hazy and blurry shapes I didn't recognize.

There wasn't much I knew back then, as I couldn't even think straight for a minute. Had I been truly conscious it would had been frustrating. Fortunately, at the moment my more developed grown-up's mind wasn't operating.

It is now that I find these strange, unrelated memories that I can barely interprete or comprehend, now that I've resigned myself to live here.

I wouldn't know how to explain my first years here, how the shapes were taking real form and my brain acostumed itself to the task of sorting the memories of the person I had been in another life, but at one point I started to do it more consciously. I realized I was baby depending of others, surrounded by a gaggle of redheads that my previous self had never before seen, but my baby self recognized as 'safe'.

I spent who knows how much time trying to memorize each and every one, distinguishing all of them before I ever knew their names. During that time I was a quiet baby, since I was able to pick up on the tense atmosphere. My parents were high-strung, stressed over something, even if it didn't touch us the children, and I didn't want to be a bother.

Soon enough a new baby came into our family, the first girl I saw among a ton of boys, her little face scrunched and with a healthy pair of lungs. At some point after her arrival my world came crushing down.

Originally I had theorised that I was dreaming, especially with how confusing were my first experiences there. An hallucination conjured by my addled brain, I was probably in coma somewhere in a Hospital, why not?

As the days and weeks were passing, the circumstances I were in became more and more clear and the things I felt physically started to make me think that maybe I had been reborn instead? It was strange. In the first instance the idea that I was dreaming supported itself because of the strange ocurrences that happened at the weird house, things flying, toys appearing in front of my and the similar.

But everything made sense once I heard my supposed father excitedly shout about the defeat of You-Know-Who at the hands of Harry Potter, the first and only person to survive the Killing Curse.

Several things came up at me at once.

I knew those names, my cousin had talked my ear off more than once about the books of Harry Potter -ones I never read, fed up with her rambles about them- and had practically forced me to watch the last two film, those with the death thingies and I remembered very little of the first six films.

I knew war was coming for us if they had only coined the term of 'Boy-Who-Lived', and that scared me to death.

I knew that I had a sister and was part of a redheaded family. That meant I was a boy. A fucking boy.

I'm not proud to admit this, several years later. But the thing to promtp the first meltdown I had here was that last fact. How would I live with myself? Go to the restroom once I was old enough? That made me tremendously uncomfortable with myself, the mere fact of thinking about it. I think I threw up everything I had eaten before. I don't know if I was disgusted or what, but I couldn't endure touch, the feeling reminding me again that it wasn't my own skin, that I shouldn't exist, bringing up the nausea once again.

I know for facts that I spent a long number of years unable to be held or touched without crying just for this thing.

And I know -I think, it's not like those memories are all clear-cut; thank the depression- that that first meltdown led to others. Led to the one that practically has reigned over my whole life here: the certainty of war, of death, of pain.

I'm a coward. I hate pain, I hate trouble, I just want a life nice and easy, I care not for the throes of passion if it means I can be content with what I have.

That... that had been one of the true certainties I had about myself, something I knew, and I had spent too much damn time getting to know that.

However I couldn't live by that, not in this world. This world that had been a fucking novel, where the eternal conflict between Light and Dark only waited to start once again, where this people whom believed themselves my family would be fighting, and getting hurt and dying over a war that surely would only give way to another one, sooner or later. Pointless, and unescapable.

I knew who I was here, who I should be, and couldn't run away fast enough from such fate. Those realizations weren't helping me, only adding to a pressure I couldn't name back then.

I hated myself, my life, whatever the fuck had made me be there. I hated my parents for bringing a son that was broken enough to realize he shouldn't be here, I hated Voldemort for being such a predictable bastard, the Saviour for not really defeating the Dark Lord, and that stupid wizard with the Gandalf-vibe.

I spent years hating, and crying, and ignoring everything else. I spent my nights with nightmares, be it of the war I'd had to participate in or about the fact of being a boy and having to kiss girls and make babies. It repulsed me, I couldn't get to stomach it. The mere fact of having to touch my member made me cringe at least and retch most of the times. More than once I had panic attacks, unable to breath.

Even before, when I had been in _my right body_ I wasn't all that sold in the idea of sex, preferring to avoid any contact at all with other people in that sense. I had never been comfortable enough. But now? I couldn't. Just, no. Out with it, I'd be a virgin my whole life.

I don't know how old I was then, but I know my age hadn't reached the two digits, and those were the thoughts spiralling on my mind back then, plunging myself once again in my personal hell.

Those were trying times, for everyone I'm sure.

That's something I noticed, my siblings trying to cheer me up, and no one ever opposing me once I was up to interact with them.

I wouldn't know how it started, but the twins were the first I remember acknowledging. It was a little prank, and I suppose I had gotten to the very end of my self-pity, there was no more to contemplate or cry over, I had resigned myself to inhabit such weird body. My brain, my thoughts were blank, more or less. No more processing, only doing.

And then, they did something and some part of me found it funny enough for me to actually laugh at it.

It was like waking up here for a second time. Even now I'm only able to get a general idea of what I thought for so much time, none of the incredibly twisted scenaries my mind built up back then remain in my memory for me to know what the hell had me so freezed up with terror as to practically have a few years worth of black out. Frankly, I don't want to know. It scares me.

Serve the knowledge that this was the beginning of my rebuilding. I had been unmade those past years, thoroughly, and I won't deny that starting to stand up once again was, practically, the most difficult thing I've had to do ever since I became Ron Weasley.

Having to remake yourself isn't easy, isn't nice, isn't fast. I had to evaluate myself closely, had to deliberate with myself what things I could get behind and what I couldn't, what I could live myself with doing, or not. I had to reflect about who I had been and who I wanted to be, and tie it into the person it was necessary that I got to be in the future, if I wanted to live.

I put myself in a fucking scale, trying to guess what would get me killed, what would make me hate myself more than I already did on account of not having a girl's body.

The first time I did that, back in my first -my original- life, it had been hard. It takes courage, to sit with yourself and ask yourself who are you, what is the basis of the person you are, the philosophy you live by. It takes time to do that, and it takes some serious balls to see yourself eye to eye, both good things and bad ones, and accept all of that as yours, saying " _this_ is me".

The second time wasn't easier, what with the sketchy moral of contemplating if I'd kill or not others in order to survive the approaching war.

But I did it, and that was reason enough to be proud of myself. Reason enough to get up in the mornings and try to get to know the siblings I had been regaled with this time around. Reason enough to grind my teeth and try to drill my body to be strong enough once the time came.

Because I wanted to live, okay? I wanted a life after the fucking mess that awaited for me, I wanted more than the twenty years or so I had in my first life. And the way to deserve them was to work for it, to prepare myself to the best of my ability, to gain allies that would fight besides me.

And I'd do whatever was needed in order to do so.


End file.
